


You Don't Save Your Children (Because Your Children Save You)

by scriivener



Series: You & I (We'll Face The World Together) [6]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Past Child Abuse, Swearing, cute father/daughter bonding, i actually edited this one this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scriivener/pseuds/scriivener
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because, at some point, Steph was going to learn about his scars. He just wished that it was years from now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Save Your Children (Because Your Children Save You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abbyli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbyli/gifts).



> Written for abbyli, because it was their wonderful idea. I've worked for months to get this piece of work at a quality I was happy with. This was probably hardest one to write, so I hope you enjoy it.

Daryl’s back is a canvas of scars.

It’s not something he’s ever been proud of. In fact, it’s something that makes him feel absolutely nauseated. There was a saying that ‘life could not be lived to the full without scars’ or something along those lines, and Daryl agrees with that because everyone is scarred in some way. But, t _hose_ kinds of scars weren’t hideous and a constant physical reminder of a past he’d rather forget. The memories he could bury deep down inside of him until they almost ceased to exist, but the scars would never, ever go away.

It’s an unspoken rule that there are not to be two mirrors in a room because he hates the sight of his back. It’s ugly and disgusting and sickening, a map of complete and utter fear and agony. There are too many words to describe it but beautiful isn’t one he would ever use. But that doesn’t stop Beth from running her fingers over them like they were braille and whispering that she thought they were beautiful because they showed that he persevered.

He always wears shirts no matter what, even if it’s a million and two degrees and every single other man he knows has stripped down to their pants or less.  He keeps the scars a secret that he holds close to his chest in a grip like they were his _precious_ – and god damn, Beth and Steph have made him into an absolute nerd. He never speaks about his father anymore either, even with the prompting from Beth and Preston. Preston, despite his pushiness, hadn’t been able to get Daryl to open up about his father’s death.

Really, it was the man’s own damn fault and Daryl didn’t even attend the funeral. He didn’t even know if there _had_ been a funeral; the man hadn’t been all that well liked, and all of his friends had probably been too drunk off their asses to even realise that their friend was dead.

He doesn’t like to think about his father and he doesn’t like to think about the scars.

Of course he knew that eventually Steph might find out about the scars, but he had wished that it was when she was in her thirties or forties with her own kids that she loved and doted upon.

But of course not.

He’s  standing with his back to the door in the middle of trying to tug a shirt down – he was hot and the sweat made the fabric stick to his skin, and admittedly the shirt was maybe a little bit too small – when Steph calls out “Dad?” and opens the door before he can even answer her.

She gaps, and Daryl spins around as quickly as he can and yanking the shirt down with a protesting hiss of ripping fabric, but it’s too late. She’s already seen what he’d been desperately been trying from her for years. The blood drains from her face and she looks like she’s going to be sick. Daryl thinks he feels the same, but he can’t be too sure of what he’s feeling at the moment – his emotions feel chaotic at the moment.

“Dad?” She whispers sounding horrified.

“Steph.” His voice shakes embarrassingly. At fourteen years old, Steph is smart and beautiful and kind and Daryl hated the idea of her knowing about the scars that had been cruelly inflicted. He didn’t want her to know where they came from – he wished that no one would ever have to teach her about child abuse but sometimes the world failed to be kind.

He just wished that he didn’t have to be the one to talk to her about child abuse.

He takes a deep shaky breath and sits down on the end of the bed, patting the space next to him. Once she sits, he wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his side, breathing in the smell of her hair. She smells like mangos – probably because of the expensive shampoo that she had begged for – and purity. He’s silent for a moment, rolling the words around in his head. There’s no way that he can word this in a tactful way, so he gets ready to struggle out the words, but Steph beats him to the point.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I should’ve waited to come in.”

He shook his head even though yes, she should’ve waited but he ignores that for now. That’s something for another day. “It’s okay.” He says, even though it isn’t. He huffs out a bitter laugh. “I guess ya want to know where they came from?”

“You don’t have to tell me, it’s okay dad.” But he knows that she wants to know and this was his chance, because he’s not sure he’d ever be able to get the courage to talk about them again. He takes a breath and runs his tongue across his teeth nervously. “Are they from when you were in the army?”

“No.” He says softly, shaking his head. “They’re from my old man.”  

“What do you mean?”

And he speaks slowly and has to take breaks because he’s not sure that he’s breathing. He’s never spoken of it outside of his sessions with Preston, and it’s so hard to his daughter about the things his father did to him. He doesn’t go in detail, doesn’t tell her how he inflicted the scars because she should never have to learn about a child being beaten with a belt – who would’ve thought that such a mundane object would leave so many scars? – and she definitely doesn’t need to hear about how her father was almost killed by his own father when he was her age.

When he finishes, neither of them move for a moment before she wraps her arms around him tightly and doesn’t say a single word. She doesn’t have to and he holds her back just as tight, resting his chin on her shoulder and relishes in the thought that this girl was his, that he had been part of raising such a beautiful and perfect girl.

He doesn’t cry but she does. He pushes her back and wipes away her tears with the pad of his thumb and offers her a wonky smile that wavers on his face. “It’s alright sweetheart. He ain’t gonna hurt anyone else ever again.”

“Do you think there are people out there who help people who were in your situation?”

“Yeah. They try their hardest but it doesn’t mean that they get ta help everyone.”

“Maybe one day they will.”

“Maybe.”

-

She doesn’t say another word about his abuse until she’s graduating high school. She comes and grabs his hands and says “I hope you’ll be proud of me.”

“I’m always proud of ya.”

She offers him a grin and says “I want to study to be a social worker. I want to help kids who are in the same situation as you were. I want to make a difference, and I will.”

And he wraps her up in his arms so tight and whispers how fucking proud he is to have a daughter as selfless as her.

 

 


End file.
